


Give Me Time To Get To You

by Ode_to_ships



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluffy, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Content, Stydia, angsty, cause what else is new?, explicit - Freeform, how do you tag?, just them trying to figure out their lives, lots of stydia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 13:07:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9273146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ode_to_ships/pseuds/Ode_to_ships
Summary: "He kisses her nose, her cheeks, her forehead, and finally her lips. He slots himself between her legs, and they make out. It’s lazy and slow. They re-memorize each other. He memorizes her sighs, her hands in his hair and on his back, the squeeze of her thighs around his hips, the way her tongue tastes, he memorizes it all. He can tell she’s doing the same, focusing on only him."They always had bad timing, and that's the thing. Cause even when you have the chemistry, you need the timing... But timing is a bitch.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was so difficult, but here we are. Thanks for clicking on it, and I hope you stick it out(:

It’s Stiles’ 25th birthday, and he's drunk. Like, really drunk. He’s currently standing outside his hotel room staring at the door because there are two of them, and he's pretty sure that if he opens the wrong one, he’s going to fall into a pit, or go to Neverland, or maybe it’ll be like the red pill, blue pill thing from the Matrix. He’s so fucked. 

Despite his state, he tries the door on the left because, well just because. Thank god it’s the door to his room. He stumbles in, collapses on the bed, still fully clothed, and passes out.

 

 

The next morning Stiles wakes up to a headache that rivals any kind of pain he’s ever felt in his whole life. There's a taste in his mouth that reminds him of the time Scott dared him to lick the tire of his jeep when they were 16. He's also blind because the curtains are drawn back, and his corneas are probably fried. He wants to be mad, but his head hurts too damn bad to even think. 

He sits up. Rubbing his head he studiously observes the comforter because it’s the only thing that doesn’t hurt, until the shapes on it start to move, and he gets dizzy. So he looks up because what else can he do?

Lydia Martin is currently standing in his hotel room with her arms crossed.

He shakes his head. Nope, she’s still there.

“Okay so either I’m still really drunk, or dreaming because Lydia is standing in my room,” he looks down at his fingers briefly, “Okay 10 fingers. So I must just be really drunk.” He flops back on to the bed, and closes his eyes, willing sleep to come again. 

“You aren’t dreaming obviously, and while I’d say you might still be drunk, I am in fact here,” she retorts. 

“Shhh, hallucination Lydia. You’re screaming, and I’m just not about that right now.” Is he screaming too? It sounds like it.

“Stiles, sit up,” she was kind enough to speak softer.

He begrudgingly sits up because hallucination or not, you don’t ignore a request from Lydia Martin. 

“Alright, I’ll bite. Are you really here? Like actually really here?” He asks.

She moves forward and cups his face in her cheeks. “Yes, I am in fact really here,” she whispers. He’s grateful.

“What are you doing here?”  
“It’s your 25th birthday.” She says by way of explanation. 

“It was yesterday…” There's no anger in his tone. He knows that she’s busy. Living 5 hours away doesn’t help either. She had moved to Sacramento after landing a research position in a lab up there, directly after college, they had both gone to Stanford. It had been 2 years since she had actually lived in Beacon Hills. She kept up with everyone, Stiles included, but he still missed her. 

They had never dated. He isn't entirely sure what to call their relationship. They had the kind of relationship that would make everyone assume they were dating, but they had never defined the relationship. It was technically his fault. He had told her that she should go, and that she should experience all the things that she wanted to, because he thought that’s what she would want. He was really unaware of how wrong he was. But they had crappy timing, and so when she told him she wanted him to come with her the day before she was leaving for Sacramento, he told her that he couldn’t leave Beacon Hills, and Scott, and his dad. Their relationship hadn't been the same since. 

So he's a little surprised that she actually came down for his birthday. 

“I’m aware it was yesterday. But I couldn’t make it down until this morning, so here I am and happy birthday, Stiles.” She smiled at him, and he smiled softly back.

“It’s good to see you, Lyd,” he says softly, and she smiles again. “Like really really good.” She laughs quietly at that.

“It’s good to see you too, Stiles. How about we check you out of here, and go get some breakfast?” She offers, stepping back and some part of his chest twinges a little at the loss of contact. 

“That sounds awesome,” he basically moans. “What about Scott? I should probably make sure he’s alive.” Stiles goes to stand up to grab his phone from the table by the tv, but then realizes it isn't there. He starts patting his pockets, and finds that it’s in his back one on his jeans.

10 missed calls from Scott, 3 voicemails, and 16 texts. Jesus.

The texts start off pretty straight forward, and then slowly get more and more indecipherable. Stiles wonders briefly why the hell Scott was texting him when they were together. He makes it through all the texts, and then proceeds to listen to the voicemails. Lydia quirks an eyebrow, and sits on the bed. He just smiles sheepishly. 

First Voicemail  
“Duuuuudeee, Happy Biifffdaayyy! You’re right next to me, but I wanna say it to youuuu here so when ya wakey in da mornin, you can hear dis and be smiley!!” He deletes this one.

Second Voicemail  
“Okay! I am staring at two doors.. And I'm nah sure which one to choooose. I DON’T WANNA DIE! Okay, I fink I’m gonna chooooose the… LEFT! Oh phew, it’s my room. Night buddy. HAPPY BIRFFDAY!” Stiles saves that one because no one in their right mind would ever delete it.  


Third Voicemail  
“Oh my god… I think I’m seeing Jesus, and I think he’s shaking his head at me. What the hell did you slip into my drink last night? Werewolves aren't supposed to be drunk, and you got me drunk, and didn’t even stay the night. Jesus just face palmed, oh god. Anyway dude, Lydia texted me last night and said she’s gonna surprise you this morning, hope that’s going well. I’ll be down stairs eating breakfast because Jesus is telling me to. See ya soon buddy.” He absolutely saves this one to serve as a reminder that he, Stiles Stilinski, got his alpha drunk. He’s proud, though the hallucination of Jesus is weird, because the mixture Stiles slipped into Scott’s drink isn’t supposed to create hallucinations. But Stiles brushes it off because if anyone is going to have a weird reaction, it’s Scott.

“You two are absolutely ridiculous, and I agree. It was rude to get him drunk, and not stay the night.”

“Okay to be fair… He went up earlier than I did, and I was so drunk I couldn’t even stand straight,” she just gives him a look, and then his head twinges. “Weren't we going to get breakfast to sober my ass up? Because I’m still feeling very hungover.” He decides that he is going to call Scott after breakfast.

She sighs, “Yeah. Let’s go.” She stands up and moves in front of him, holding out her hands. He takes them gratefully, and she hauls him up. He stumbles a little, which gives him an excuse to throw his arm around her shoulder under the guise of needing help to walk. He just wants to be in contact with her after not seeing her for so long.

Lydia doesn’t miss a beat. He knows that she knows exactly what he’s up to, but she just sighs and shakes her head and they head out of the room. 

 

 

Heading downstairs proves a lesson in how horribly clumsy Stiles is when he’s drunk, on top of his already present inability to move like a normal human. Age, however, has done him a kindness and he is slightly steadier than he was when he was a teenager. That and having an elevator doesn’t hurt either. 

He never moves away from Lydia, and Lydia never pushes him away. It feels good to be that close to her, to have that comfort. She’s warm, and she smells like Lydia, and God he has missed how she smells. If they were 22, he would bury his face in her hair and kiss her head. But they aren't 22, and he isn't allowed to bury his face in her hair anymore. 

So he stands next to her, with his arm around her. And it’s enough. He didn’t think he’d get this with Lydia again, and here she is hauling his hungover ass downstairs to get him breakfast. He doesn’t even care if she didn’t get him anything for his birthday, her visiting is the best present he could've asked for, but he’s a shit so he says;

“So what did you get me for my birthday?” He looks down at her. 

She gives him an incredulous look, “I am currently half carrying your smelly, hungover 5’11 self down to get you breakfast, and you have the audacity to ask me what I got you for your birthday. I drove all the way down here to be here for you,” she says, exasperated.

He just smirks at her, “It’s really cool isn't it?” She rolls her eyes. “It is. It so is.”

“I rolled my eyes, and you assume that it’s really cool?” She asks.

“HA!” He half shouts, and then groans because hangover. “But you admit there is a gift,” he says through clenched teeth. 

“There is a slight possibility that I have some sort of gift for you. And no it is not the new remote controlled flying Millennium Falcon that you've been texting me about for 3 weeks.”

“Lydia it’s the size of a small dog!” He exclaims, much more quietly this time, but with the same fervor.

“Stiles I cannot believe I actually have to explain to you how it’s impossible for it to actually fly, and that it is a complete scam. I’ve sent you multiple articles about how it’s exploded on multiple different occasions.”

“It’s the size of a small dog, that right there is reason enough. I can handle a small fire,” he retorts right as the elevator reaches the first floor.

“No,” she says and starts moving out of the elevator and because he’s still refusing to move away from Lydia, he follows her giving him no time to pout. 

They walk into the dining room, and immediately Lydia turns and walks away, leaving Stiles’ side cold. He turns and follows her, completely forgetting about Scott, and checking out. “Where are we going now?”

“There’s an IHOP about 10 minutes from here, and while I am not one to eat mass amounts of carbs, if I’m going to, I refuse to do it at a crappy hotel. Besides, I know you live for their stuffed french toast,” she says turning to smile at him. 

“Ohh,” he groans out his agreement, placing a hand over his heart. “Why do you just get me?”

“It’s a talent I posses, obviously.” She smirks, walking out the doors of the hotel, and he just follows her. 

 

They've been in the car for exactly 2 minutes when Stiles speaks up again, unable to quell the curiosity.

“So are you going to tell me what my gift is?”

“Maybe over breakfast.” 

“You’re the worst person I’ve ever met.” He grumbles.

“This is not the kind of sweet talk I was expecting especially since I’m buying you french toast.”

“Using my love of french toast against me, and refusing to tell me what my gift is. You are ruthless Lydia Martin,” she smiles at him and he cannot help but smile back. 

“Someone has to keep you in check, otherwise you'll be harassing everyone into giving you what you want.” She says.

“I resent that. I do not harass people. I just… ask a lot of questions at a rapid pace,” he shrugs, and then they're pulling into the IHOP parking lot. 

They get out of the car, and head into the restaurant. Stiles is relatively sure this is all a dream because there is no way that Lydia is choosing to walk into an IHOP. He’s thinking that maybe this is his gift, and he's struck with the feeling again, that if this is all he gets, he’ll be okay with that. 

They sit down, and he carefully avoids the topic of what his gift is because he really doesn’t want to push her, despite their friendly banter. He isn't sure if she knows that her being here is gift enough. He’s sickeningly in love with her, which everyone knows, including Lydia. He knows that she feels something for him too, but he isn't sure if it’s sickening in the same way. 

They never lost touch. Even though he’s sure he hurt her, she always made sure that he felt like he was part of her life. And of course he did the same. 

The thing about Lydia is that she learned long ago where second chances get you, and he’s blown through about 3 of them. He considers himself lucky at this point that she even wants to talk to him, to be around him. He sent her away. Told her he couldn’t leave his home, his family. He’s the biggest idiot in the universe because he had a chance with Lydia, and he didn’t take it. He let her walk away in the airport, and didn’t go after her. He’s been kicking himself since that day. 

He knows she understands, knows that she sprung it on him without any preface or time for thought. And though he had told her he had no problem visiting her, she never actually extended an invitation, which means he really hurt her the day he said no. 

He'd left her a voicemail while she was on the plane, actually he'd left her 10 voicemails, explaining why he’d done what he did, and how much he loved her, and how his saying no had nothing to do with her.

When she’d called later that day, after settling in at her new home, she hadn't mentioned anything about the voicemails. Stiles had managed to break his and her heart in a matter of seconds, and now there was no going back. Even if he hadn't meant the what he said, it had been too late. 

Her voice breaks him out of his thoughts when she asks why he hasn't touched his french toast yet.

“I am on breakfast hiatus until you tell me what your gift is.” He’s Stiles for God’s sake. He held it in as long as he could, and then he had to ask. He thinks he might know what her gift is now. 

She sighs, “Alright I’ll tell you,” her hesitation tells him a lot. This gift, whatever it is, what he’s pretty sure it is, is not an easy gift for her to give. For the first time this morning, Stiles sits still.

“I actually drove in last night, and I went to your apartment, and packed a bag for you. It’s in my trunk right now. My gift is bringing you home with me for a week. Showing you around Sacramento, showing you my lab and my work, spending time with you…” She trails off, but she isn't done, so he keeps his mouth shut, “And last week I had talked to Scott, and he was telling me how you miss me, and I’ve been missing you like crazy so I figured this was a good way to kill two birds with one stone,” she’s been avoiding his eyes the whole time, but at the last sentence, she looks up and meets his eyes. It’s her way of being brave. 

He knows that this is not something to be taken lightly. He knows that she’s waiting for a “no” to come out of his mouth. 

“I am absolutely, 100% down for that,” he breathes because she just always knows.

“Really?” She asks, a hint of surprise in her voice, and that breaks his heart a little. 

“Yes. Lydia that’s so much more than I would've asked for.” He reaches across the table to grab her hand, the one that’s fiddling with her fork. He feels her relax slightly when he makes contact and is reminded that she responds to him as much as he responds to her. 

“Well good. Now eat your breakfast so we can get going,” she gestures to his lukewarm french toast. 

He eats it anyway, and it’s delicious. They fall into easy conversation, and he's enjoying himself thoroughly. Easy conversation is something he’s only had with 2 people. Scott and Lydia.

Speaking of Scott; his phone rings and it’s him. He glances at Lydia and she nods the okay. 

“Hey buddy, how ya feeling?” 

“Probably a lot better than you.” Scott replies, which is true because despite the french toast, Stiles is still a little hungover.

“I got you drunk to the point of hallucination, and you’re still completely recovered. I actually hate you right now.” Stiles says, teasing.

“Are you with Lydia?”

“Yeah. We’re at IHOP.” 

“Lydia Martin walked into an IHOP?” Scott asks disbelieving.

“I am also waiting for the world to end,” he feels her kick his leg, and he grins at her. 

“Well I’ll be watching for meteors. I checked us out by the way, and Kira picked me up. So you’re all good to head up to Sacramento to engage in various activities with Lydia.” 

“How did we even find our rooms last night, dude? And did you just insinuate a certain activity that I am relatively sure will not be happening and is cruel to even suggest?” He says trying to be coy. Lydia catches on, and kicks him under the table again. He shoots her a sheepish glance as if to say ‘Scott suggested it, not me.’

“I actually have no idea how we found our rooms. We’re impressive. And yes. I was insinuating that. It’s you and Lydia, and I am not an idiot even if you two are going to pretend for the first 36 hours that you don’t want to jump each others’ bones.” Scott says in a way that is in entirely too cavalier for the heart palpitations Stiles is currently experiencing. 

He opens and closes his mouth a few times before being able to respond. “I resent that,” is all Stiles can get out because who even is his best friend?

“Don’t call me after it happens, Stiles. If you love me, you will not call me,” Scott pleads.

“Yeah, we’ll see. Gotta go buddy,” and he hangs up with Scott protesting on the other end. “Scott said he checked us out, so I am good to go.” 

“Well I paid while you were talking, so let’s go because 5 hours is a long time to be alone in a car with you.” She teases. 

“Hate to break it to you Lyd, but you just signed up for a full week of uninterrupted Stiles time,” he winks at her, and watches her blush slightly. 

This week is going to be incredibly difficult for him. 

 

 

5 hours in the car together proves to be entertaining. Stiles sleeps most of it, and wakes up with drool smeared across his face, and a picture of him on Instagram. He can’t even be mad because Lydia starts laughing at his face when he sees it, like full on laughs, her whole body shaking and her head thrown back. It’s a laugh he doesn’t hear often, and it’s his favorite of hers. 

The remaining two hours are dedicated to shitty pop songs, and snacks that make both of them queasy, but they keep eating them anyway. He drives the remaining two hours with her directing him. It feels vaguely like senior year of high school and the summer after when they spent a lot of time driving around together in his jeep, which is still parked at the hotel he realizes. So on their next stop, he texts Scott who says he’s already taken care of it. 

 

The reach her apartment around 9 o'clock that night, tired but happy. Her apartment is in a nicer part of Sacramento, which doesn’t surprise him in the slightest. 

He’s nervous as they head upstairs, and he can tell that she is too. Because despite his denial to Scott, Scott was right. It’s him and Lydia. There's a rich history there of passionate fights that ended in her wrapped around him while he fucked into her roughly. 

There’s lazy Sunday mornings where he’d wake up to her bed warm body, and let her ride him nice and slow until they both came with his hands on her hips, and her mouth at his ear whispering sinful things to him.

But there’s also Thursday nights when he'd make dinner for them, and they'd watch infomercials late at night because they both couldn’t sleep. 

He stops himself from delving too far into the past because that isn't them anymore, and getting caught up in it isn't going to help either of them. So he starts talking because that’s the only way he's going to stop the fantasies. 

“Why is the elevator taking so long?” He's so desperate for a distraction that he actually starts talking about the speed of the elevator like he's a 60 year old man. 

Lydia snorts, “Stop internally freaking out, Stiles.”

“Right. Okay. Got it,” he takes a deep breath because now his hands are clammy. Lydia makes him nervous on a good day. It’s usually a flutter of butterflies that never ends. She’s always kind of knocked him out. But today he’s so nervous because this is the first time he’s been completely and utterly alone with her in 2 years. The girl he is sickeningly in love with.

They step out of the elevator and head to her apartment door. She opens it and they step inside, and it’s absolutely, totally, and completely Lydia. It makes him smile, and suddenly he's calmer. This is Lydia. He knows her, she knows him. They move with each other effortlessly.

She kicks off her shoes, so he does the same. He leaves his bag by her door while she shows him around, and he’s not surprised to find out that she only has one bedroom. It’s couch city for him for the next 6 days, and he’s okay with that. 

 

After the tour they start to get ready for bed, and he realizes how much he missed watching her go through her bed time routine. Once they're both ready for bed, that’s when the nerves rev up again.

“Do you have some blankets I can borrow?” He asks. She had remembered to grab his pillow from his apartment. When he asks he thinks he sees disappointment flit through her eyes, but it’s gone before he can place it. 

“Uhm, yeah. Front closet. Take whatever you need,” She says with a small smile. He half smiles back, and goes and sets up his bed in the living room. He hears her door click shut, and winces slightly. 

He lays down and thinks about her door, and how it’s a barrier between them and how he’s really tired of there being barriers between them. But he isn't sure if she wants him to break them down, so he stays in his make shift bed, and stares at the ceiling. 

He does this for about an hour before he hears her bedroom door open again. He’s assuming she has to use the bathroom, but that idea is shot to hell when her figure approaches him. The light coming in from outside is just enough for him to make out what she looks like. Her hair is messy like she’s been tossing and turning for the past hour, and she’s in his favorite faded gray t-shirt, and his boxers that are red plaid. So that’s where they went.

He sits up. “Hey Lyd. What's wrong?” He asks because something has to be wrong.

She stands there for a minute, bunching and un-bunching the hem of his t-shirt she’s wearing, and then finally sighs. She runs a hand through her hair, and then looks at him.

“Stiles I don’t want you to sleep on the couch,” she murmurs.

“It’s fine, Lyd. I don’t mind. You have a really comfy couch,” he reassures her.

“Stiles can you please just… not sleep on the couch?” She asks, voice a little louder this time. 

And he gets it. His heart starts hammering. “Of course…” he manages to get out.

She takes his hand, and leads him into her room. He forgets all about his pillow, and climbs into her bed after her. She lays down facing him, and once he’s settled facing her, she moves forward and buries her face into his chest, wrapping her arm around his torso, and stroking his back. He moves so his arm is under her head, and puts his other arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him. She tangles their legs, and he can feel her taking a deep breath. He buries his face in her hair, and follows her lead. 

“I missed your smell. Your t-shirt stopped smelling like you 5 months into me living here, and I broke down crying. Isn't that just stupid? To cry over the smell of a t-shirt? But then I realized I wasn’t crying because of the t-shirt. I was crying because I couldn’t smell you anymore. I couldn’t pretend you were here with me anymore.” She whispers into his chest, but he hears her anyway. He closes his eyes, trying to form words around the lump in his throat. 

“Lydia…” he tries, but she stops him.

“No, it’s okay. I get it. I always have. I just.. I needed you in here with me tonight. And every night for the rest of the week. I just need you with me when I sleep.” She kisses his chest.

“Okay, Lyd. Whatever you need.” He says, and he slips a hand under her shirt, and traces her spine because he knows that she likes that, that it helps her sleep. 

She falls asleep nuzzled against him, and he follows close behind her. Throughout the night as Stiles wakes up to shift, she wakes up and shifts right along with him so she’s always in some kind of contact with him, and he’s never seen Lydia so vulnerable. 

He makes a silent promise to himself to make sure Lydia has absolutely no doubts in her head about how he feels about her by the time the week is up.

 

They wake up the next morning spooning, and Lydia doesn’t mention the previous night when she turns around and kisses him lightly on the lips. She doesn’t mention is while he makes them breakfast. She doesn’t mention it while they're getting ready for the day. 

So Stiles doesn’t mention it either. Because if he knows anything, it’s when to leave a topic alone until Lydia is ready to breach it. 

She takes him out and shows him all her favorite places in the city like the Museum of Medical History, International World Peace Rose Gardens, and the Crocker Art Museum.

They end up back at her apartment, ordering in pizza because they can’t decide on anything else. Stiles finds a movie on Netflix that neither have seen, and half way through, the pizza shows up. It’s not great pizza, but they eat it anyway and spend the rest of the movie with it on mute making up the lines the characters are saying. 

He makes Lydia laugh so hard, some of her water comes out of her nose. Which in turn makes him laugh hard enough that he starts choking on the bite of pizza in his mouth. She pats his back, and they both finally stop choking. 

She kisses him again once he catches his breath, and this time it’s a little more. He kisses her back because he has never been one to deny himself her lips. 

She pulls away slightly, breathing kind of heavy and says, “Maybe we should clean up…” but she doesn't finish because Stiles threads his hand through her hair, and whispers against her lips, “In a minute. Just lemme taste you..” 

He kisses her this time, and she parts her lips, and lets his tongue into her mouth. She pushes her tongue against his, and moves into his lap. They sit there making out, her hands in his hair. His hands running all over her body because he can’t be still. He has to touch her. 

When she breaks away for air, he pulls back and looks at her. Thoroughly kissed Lydia is a wet dream, but he keeps that thought to himself, and instead says, “Should we clean up real quick?” 

She nods. She gets up off his lap, and starts picking up the pizza box, and their glasses. He grabs the plates and the napkins, and takes them into the kitchen right behind her. They busy themselves for a few minutes before he can’t take it anymore. 

“Kissing you was a bad idea,” he turns and watches her stiffen up.

“Why’s that?” She asks stiffly.

“Because now I’m going to spend the rest of this week wanting to kiss you, trying to kiss you again,” he shoots back. He isn't mad, just on edge because he can still taste her every time he licks his lips. 

“Would I ever leave you wanting?” She smirks, clearly happy that this wasn’t a rejection. 

“No, but when I leave at the end of the week, it’s going to suck that much more if I have to all of a sudden stop kissing you.”

“Then I guess we won’t kiss again. Wouldn’t want you to suffer,” she rolls her eyes. 

He snorts, “Fuck that. I’ll suffer,” he moves into her space, “You gonna let me kiss you again, Lydia?” He asks quietly.

“Only if you clean up the kitchen.”

He laughs. “I think that’s worth like 30 minutes of make out time.”

“I guess we’ll find out,” she pats his chest and heads out of the kitchen.

He sighs and gets to work. 

 

Once he’s done cleaning the kitchen, he heads into her bedroom to grab some clothes to change into, and finds her sitting on her bed wearing his flannel from earlier, and her underwear. His mouth goes dry. 

She’s reading a book, and her hair is in a bun, and she’s chewing her the inside of her thumb (a habit she picked up from him), and he’s frozen for a second leaning against the door, watching her. 

She looks up and smiles warmly at him. He moves forward. When he reaches the side of the bed she’s on, he pushes the book out of the way, wraps his arm around her waist and lays her back. He’s licking and nipping at her neck, and she’s giggling.

He kisses her nose, her cheeks, her forehead, and finally her lips. He slots himself between her legs, and they make out. It’s lazy and slow. They re-memorize each other. He memorizes her sighs, her hands in his hair and on his back, the squeeze of her thighs around his hips, the way her tongue tastes, he memorizes it all. He can tell she’s doing the same, focusing on only him. 

After who knows how long, she breaks away, but he just moves to her neck. “I think your half hour is up, Stiles,” she breathes out. 

“Did you actually time how long we’ve been laying here?” She squeezes her legs around him in response. He huffs out a laugh into her neck, “Do you want me to stop?”

“No, but I have to pee so if you'd be so kind as to let me up.”

He laughs again and rolls off her. While she’s in the bathroom he changes quickly, and then knocks on the door to the bathroom. He hears her garble out a “come in” which means she’s brushing her teeth. He walks in and proceeds to brush his teeth as well. 

Once they finish, they head back into the bedroom and lay down. She falls asleep cuddled up to him, and Stiles starts to think about how he never wants to leave this girl again. 

 

The next 3 days are a blur of activity. Stiles gets to see where Lydia works, which is absolutely fascinating for him. It isn't a big lab, but the research she’s doing is important, and she’s in direct contact with a professor at MIT. Since his run in with Ghost Riders, Lydia had taken an interest in parallel universes, and what that means. Quantum physics is her bread and butter. She’s modified it through her own hypothesis, but hasn't shown anyone but him. 

The day after that they stay in and watch nothing but old cartoons. They eat chinese take out, and don’t get out of their pajamas the entire day. 

The day after that she takes him out to her favorite bar. Her coworkers are there and she introduces them to him. Stiles likes her coworkers. They’re nice and not at all stuck up like you would assume geniuses are. He gets a little lost in the conversation at certain points, but Lydia always helps him out. They stay out for 3 hours, and then head back to her apartment. 

He ends up 3 fingers deep in her that night, with her shirt thrown on the floor along with his. He makes her come twice, once with his fingers, and once with his mouth. She returns the favor, and when they’re orgasm stupid, they go to sleep. They don’t talk about it the next day, though Stiles is actually going insane with it. 

That same night, which is his second to last night in Sacramento, she finally brings it up.

“So about last night..” she starts. They’re sitting on the couch, her feet in his lap. 

“What about it?” 

“I don’t know. I’ve been waiting for you to say something about it.”

“What do you want me to say, Lydia?” He asks because he doesn’t think he gets to say anything about it. She’s calling the shots. 

“Nothing,” she sighs.

“No, tell me,” he insists.

“This whole week has been great, and last night was great. But where does this leave us? You've been acting like you’re in love with me, and I just need to know if you still are, or if last night was just….” She fades off.

The realization that she thinks he doesn’t love her anymore hits him like a semi. He has to take a minute to process it because he would never have guessed that she would doubt his love for her.

“Lydia you can’t possibly think that I don’t love you,” he says.

She doesn’t respond.

“Shit,” he breathes, “Lydia there isn't really a universe where I don’t love you. It doesn’t exist, ya know? I’ll always love you. Last night was incredible. It was the first time in a long time I felt like our tether was really open, ya know? Like I could really feel you.”

She looks up at him, and then moves forward till she’s on her knees next to him.

“I felt that, too.”

“I’ve been sickeningly in love with you since we were 16,” he murmurs.

“17 for me. You've really loved me all this time?” She asks and he can hear the uncertainty in her voice. She’s shown him more vulnerability in the past week than she has in the past 9 years, and he feels like he’s off kilter because it means she’s trusting him enough to handle her this way despite the damage he’s done. 

“Fuck Lydia, of course. Always,” he whispers. Before he knows it, they're kissing. And it feels like so much more than it did before. He can feel it in his bones how desperately they want to connect with each other. It’s singing in his veins how much he wants to feel her everywhere. He isn't going to stop.

He stands up, breaking the kiss. And she follows close chasing his mouth, and wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. He cups her ass and carries her to her bedroom. They make it to the wall just beside her bedroom door. He pushes her against it, still holding her up. He kisses her again, and coaxes her mouth open by running his tongue along her bottom lip. She opens her mouth and he licks into it. 

He can feel her legs constricting around his waist, she’s breathing heavy. He moves one hand from her ass and runs it up her thigh to her waist, up her torso, to her breast where he squeezes slightly. 

“Shh Lydia, I’ve got you…” he whispers into her mouth.

“Take me to bed, Stiles,” she moans quietly. 

He moves them into her room. He lays her down on her bed, and braces himself above her with his hands on either side of her head. She grabs his shirt and brings him down for another kiss, hot and heavy. He’s slotted between her legs, but he’s not allowing their hips to meet just yet. 

Stiles moves his lips to her neck, and moves a hand to her thigh, hitching it up around his waist. He slides his hand up her thigh, up her body, and brings her t-shirt up. She arches up and he takes it off of her and throws it somewhere into the room. She’s got nothing on but his plaid boxers she had stolen, and he can feel his pants getting uncomfortable.

"Jesus Christ, Lydia. You’re fucking beautiful,” he murmurs.

She looks him directly in the eye, her mouth parted slightly, and runs her nails up his back just enough that he arches into her a little letting out a little “unf” as she does it. Their hips meet and she moans again, and then his shirt is off. 

She leans up and starts licking up his neck, and it’s all he can do to keep himself upright with one hand, his other gripping her thigh tightly. He moves it up slightly and grips the hem of her shorts, and starts pulling them down. He feels her lift her hips, and he moves the shorts off of her and throws them on the floor with their shirts. 

“I’m going to count to 3 and if you’re pants are still on, I’m going to finish this all by myself,” she says into his ear. He groans and momentarily entertains the idea of letting Lydia get herself off.

“Only if I get to watch.”

“Pants, Stiles.” He nods and stands up. She moves to lean up on her elbows, she doesn’t close her legs. She’s spread out in front of him, and he’s losing his fucking mind. He wants to be inside of her so badly, his hands are shaking as he’s trying to get the button open on his jeans. He does, and she watches him and he slides them down and off. 

“Boxers too,” she says. He slides those off as well. He climbs on top of her again, places a hand by her head to keep him from pressing down on her, and she wraps her legs around him again, and arches up so their bodies are pressed together. They moan together into her bedroom, and he can feel her shifting slightly so she’s rubbing against him.

“Lyd.. you.. you gotta stop that,” he presses her hips down. She whines in protest so he kisses her wet and filthy. He moves his hand to the juncture in her thighs, and slides a finger in. She bites his lower lip in encouragement. He moves it in and out of her slowly, then slides another finger into her. Pumps them in and out of her until she’s biting his lip again. He slides the third in and starts finger fucking her at a pace that has her gripping her sheets, and pulling his hair. 

He starts kissing down her body his fingers still going inside of her, and when he reaches just above her clit, he removes his fingers, and immediately licks a strip up her. She gasps into the room. He alternates between tongue fucking her and licking at her clit. He adds one finger, and starts moving it, and she’s moaning mixing his name in with it.

“I used to dream about you moaning my name like that,” he says because it’s true and he can’t keep quiet. “I wanna make you moan like that all the time. C’mon Lyd, moan my name,” he crooks his finger, and sucks her clit slightly.

“Stiles…” she moans out.

“That’s my girl. Come for me, Lydia,” he says and then he's licking at her clit with abandon, and adds a second finger, and she’s coming with a loud moan.

He works her through it, and once she’s calmed down a little he moves back up her body and kisses her, sliding his tongue into her mouth so she can taste herself. 

She breaks away and says “I want you,” and rubs her cunt along the length of his dick to emphasize exactly what she means. He chokes out a ‘fuck’.

“Where are your condoms?” He asks as he’s kissing along her collar bone.

“Nightstand.” 

He sits up and reaches into the drawer, pulling one out. He slides it on and leans down against her. He places a hand on the head board. He uses his other hand to hitch her leg up high on his waist and presses her other leg down with his. He lines himself up, and before he can even register that he’s about to be inside Lydia Martin for the fist time in 2 years, she grips his hips and pulls him inside of her. He bottoms out, gasping because oh hell. She’s hot, and wet, and tight, and she’s clenching and unclenching around him. 

“Shit.. Yes..” she moans against his ear. 

“Oh fuck,” he pants out, “Goddamn, Lydia. You feel so..” he can’t even finish because it’s too good. 

“Move, Stiles. Please,” she begs. 

He tightens his grip on the headboard and starts to move in and out of her. He means to go slow, but she’s so wet and hot and he can’t even think straight. He starts to moving faster.

“Fuck, fuck yes. Right there, Stiles..” she moans out. 

He moves faster, fucks her a little harder. She’s reaching up to grab the headboard, her other hand grabs his neck and brings him in for a kiss. 

He pants into her mouth, licking his lips and licking hers at the same time. 

“You drive me fucking crazy, Lydia. You’re so wet, and tight, and I can’t fucking think straight. This feels goddammed amazing, you wrapped around me like this,” she clenches around him again, “Shit, don’t stop doing that..” she doesn’t.

When he’s close to coming, he reaches down and starts rubbing her clit. He starts licking at her chest, sucking one nipple and then the other, determined to get her off first.

“I’m gonna.. Stiles, I’m gonna come..” 

“Lemme feel you, Lyd. C’mon, lemme feel you come around me. Bet you feel so good when you come, yeah?” He whispers agains her ear, and then she’s coming.

She squeezes his dick so good, and she gets hotter, and wetter, that he’s coming two thrusts later. They come down together, and once they’ve worked through their orgasms, he gets up and disposes of the condom, and cleans himself off.

He goes and grabs a wash cloth and helps her clean herself up. 

Once they’re done, they climb under the covers, her nuzzled into his chest again. He strokes her hair, and they fall asleep.

 

The next morning, Stiles wakes up to an empty bed, and a note on the pillow where Lydia’s head should be. He stretches, and then picks it up and reads it. 

 

*Morning Stiles,

I had to head out early. Be back later.

Have a good day,  
Lydia.*

 

Something twists in his stomach and he isn't sure why, but he pushes it away and gets out of the bed.

He doesn’t change out of his sweats because he isn't planning on leaving. If Lydia isn't here, he isn't going to walk around Sacramento. So he makes himself some coffee and pancakes, and settles in for the day.

 

 

10 hours later it’s going on 8 o’clock, and Stiles is pacing and has been for the past hour. Lydia hasn’t called or texted though Stiles has sent her about a billion of them and left her 3 voicemails. But she hasn’t returned any of them. 

He’s starting to panic, can feel it building in his chest. His vision is getting spotty, and he can’t even breathe right, and shit this is definitely a panic attack.

Until her front door opens, and Lydia is walking through.

“Where the hell have you been?” He asks trying to catch his breath.

“I needed some time by myself,” she says and it’s stiff.

“For 10 hours?” She just shrugs. “Why didn't you respond to any of my messages?”

“Because I just said I needed some time by myself, Stiles!” 

He shrinks back a little because he isn't sure what just happened, but something is definitely not right. He takes a step towards her, and she takes a step back. He freezes.

“Lydia what happened? What's wrong?” The pit in his stomach is twisting even worse.

“I just…I had to think about a few things. And I needed to think about them without your influence.” She won’t meet his eyes. 

“Okay,” he says slowly, “What things?” He’s so nervous he’s going to throw up. He might actually fucking throw up right here on her living room floor.  


“I think… I think that after you leave tomorrow… we shouldn’t talk for awhile.” She’s being brave because she’s looking directly into his eyes. 

“Why?” He chokes out. It’s all he can get out because he can’t breathe again.

“Because we’re going back to our lives, and I don’t want to be distracted by the fact that you’re there and I’m here,” she sighs as she drops down onto the couch, “I’m tired of hurting over you, Stiles.” She sounds defeated.

“So you just want this to be it? You don’t want to be in each other’s lives anymore?” He’s gone past panic and into pissed off because she’s giving up.

“Just for a little while.” Her tone makes it sound like they’ve already agreed on this decision, and Stiles has not agreed. Not even at all.

“No fucking way, Lydia.” He snaps.

She looks up at him. “I’m not fucking doing that, and it’s shitty that you would even suggest it. You don’t tell someone you love them, and then give up on them.” His voice is tense and he can see her tensing.

“Love isn't always enough, Stiles. You proved that 2 years ago.” She spits at him.

“That’s a low fucking blow and you know it,” he says quietly. 

“Is it? Because it took a lot for me to ask you to come with me, and you shot me down! You spent all of high school, and all of college being in love with me, and then when it came down to it, you didn’t love me enough to come with me!” She yells, and he feels it in his chest, like she’s punched him.

“It was never a matter of loving you enough, Lydia!” He’s yelling back, “It was about my family! Scott! My home! You sprung it on me one day before you up and fucking left! And I told you to go because you deserve a life outside of the fucked up one you were living in Beacon Hills. But me?! I was born there, and I’ll probably die there. But not you. Never you.” 

“Do not try and turn this into a pity party for yourself. You were scared, and the love that you and I had wasn’t enough. So just accept that. Accept that and when you leave tomorrow, stay gone.” It’s final, but he isn't budging.

He moves into her personal space. “You’re right, I was scared. You fucking terrify me Lydia because no one should ever love someone the way that I love you. I would kill for you without blinking, and I would die for you just the same. I would burn the world down for you. I meant what I said last night. You don’t get to hide from me. So stop trying. You’re as scared as I am. That’s why you asked one day before you left, because you knew I would say no. You weren't ready for it either.”

She’s got tears welling up in her eyes, “Stiles stop it.” But he doesn’t. He keeps going. 

“I spent the last two years fucking hating myself for letting you walk away that day, and even more time for not just driving up here and professing this unrelenting love that I have for you. But I’m here now, and you drove 5 fucking hours to bring me here. So here I am telling you that I fucking love you, and it kills me and brings me back to life. I am not going to go home and pretend that this doesn’t matter..”

“Stiles stop it!” She’s crying now. But he won’t stop. 

“No! You’re going to hear this, goddammit. The ball was always in your court, Lydia. I’ll go home tomorrow, and I won’t talk to you if that’s what you really want. And you won’t be able to say I didn’t fight for this because here I am, fighting..”

“Please Stiles,” she whispers.

“Or… I can go home, sell my apartment, transfer my job to Sacramento, and move in with you.” He murmurs.

She looks up at him, her eyes wide and red rimmed from the tears rolling down her face. 

“Stiles… no,” She chokes out around her tears, “You can’t do all that for me. I won’t let you. Your job, your family. No.” She puts her hands on his chest, and he knows he almost has her. Stiles is currently praying to every God he doesn’t believe in that he isn't about to lose her. That he isn't going to have to go home tomorrow, and ignore a gaping hole in his chest. 

“Lydia, you’re my family too. Let me be here with you, please.” He’s desperate. 

“I can’t ask that of you.”

He smiles weakly, “You did once. And this time I’m offering.”

She takes a beat, just looking at him. He’s never heard his heart so loud, but it’s also never been so quiet. 

“Yes, yes okay,” she says and then she’s kissing him. It’s desperate and wet, but perfect all at the same. 

He kisses her back, and it’s almost bruising because he’s trying to convey all of his heartache, all of his love, all of his desperation into it. This is it for him. He hopes it is for her too.

 

 

Two weeks later Stiles is standing in his empty apartment in Beacon Hills, and he feels no nostalgia, no sadness. He’s ready for this step. It never really felt like home anyway. Not without the strawberry blonde banshee who walks up behind him and wraps her arms around him.

“C’mon let’s get going,” she mumbles into his back, “5 hours is a long time to be in the car with you.”

He grins, and turns to looks at her. He presses a kiss to her forehead, and strokes her face. 

When he pulls away, still grinning he says, “Hate to break it to you Lyds, but you just signed up for a lifetime of uninterrupted Stiles time.”

She laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> Well if you stuck it out, THANK YOU!  
> Please leave comments and/or kudos cause they mean the world to me(:
> 
> I'm impvlsivee on Tumblr!


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